


The Door to May

by noeon (noe)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Fic, Beltane, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noe/pseuds/noeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An emotional intervention at the Beltane fires in Ottery St Catchpole occasions a fierce row between the partnered Aurors Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Unlike their usual disputes, neither of them can walk away from this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Door to May

**Author's Note:**

> Kisses and butterflies and complete adoration for the beneficent mod, thisgirl_is, and for my frabjous beta, femmequixotic.
> 
> Warnings for real fighting, minor influence of medicinal potions, flesh wounds, and hurt/comfort-ish vibe.
> 
> Written for hds_beltane 2011.

Harry’s breath came in short huffs in the utter silence. He’d run all the way from the Floo after surrendering the perpetrator into Kingsley’s custody. Now he was standing in front of his locker and staring at the small brass nameplate that read, “Potter, H.” His vision swam for a moment until the letters blurred. The blood beat in his temples. He could still see Hermione’s stunned face before his mind’s eye, then Ginny’s, then Ron’s.

He pushed the images away. He couldn’t think right now, didn’t want to. His heart was still pounding and adrenalin was coursing through his veins, making his hands shake. He tugged at a glove, almost ripping it in his haste. With a muffled curse, he took a deep breath and hooked his thumb under the black leather rubbed grey at the seam, pulling at the smooth fingertips. He tried to force himself to be methodical. A shower and a change of clothes and then he could go home to Thai take-away and enough lager to make him forget that it was Beltane.

When the heavy wooden door behind him slammed open hard enough to hit the wall, Harry’s stomach flip-flopped. A flare of white hot anger rose in his chest as the echoes of wood on tile reverberated across the faded green-grey walls of the narrow subterranean room. Harry kept his back turned to the entrance, despite his instincts screaming at him to turn around. He knew exactly who it was, who it had to be: the only person on the planet who would bother him when he did not want bothering.

Harry dropped one glove in the self-cleaning locker. One more to go and then he could see how his shaking hands did with the cloak clasp. He slowed down now, perversely, knowing he wouldn’t get out of here without trouble and he was bloody well past the point of caring. The glove came away easily in his hand, and he laid it on the small metal shelf beside its mate.

“I had him covered.” Malfoy’s voice was raw, a memento of the ten minutes he’d been held in a head-lock during the stand-off.

Not bothering to turn around, Harry only fumbled once with the clasp at his throat before it came open. With a quick twist of his hands, scarlet fabric furled into a neat column. Finding the chain sewn into the neck, he pulled it forward and slid it over the hook in front of him.

He could hear Malfoy move closer as he reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, standard-issue with high level protection against spells, edged weapons, and projectiles. For a moment, he wondered if he should be taking it off before this conversation.

“You utter shit.” Malfoy said. “You can’t even look me in the face.”

Harry loosed the round buttons slowly, one, two. By three, Malfoy’s hand was reaching for his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me, Malfoy, or I’ll tear your arm off.” Four.

Malfoy didn’t even hesitate. His hand settled on Harry’s shoulder and pulled him around to face him.

“Not if I tear yours off first, Potter.” Malfoy’s normally pale face had two high spots of red on his cheekbones, and his eyes were a dangerously dark grey that Harry recognised from years’ worth of fights. He folded his arms across his chest. At least his wand wasn’t drawn; they’d both be suspended indefinitely if they duelled again. Kingsley’d been clear on that after their last bout in the physical training room.

Harry glared at his partner. He took in the rough, dirty smudges on his red cloak, the scratches on his neck, the long gash in the fabric of his trousers and the telltale edging of blood. “You should get that wound looked at.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Harry didn’t want to do this, not after this evening. Hell, he didn’t even hate Malfoy enough to fight properly, and that must mean it was the end of the world. 

Malfoy just studied him, his frown deepening. “This is because it was Weasley tonight.”

And that’s all it took. A night’s worth of pent-up rage exploding in a millisecond, Harry grabbed Malfoy, fully intent on throwing the bastard across the room. Except Malfoy was quick enough on his feet and ducked at the right moment, using Harry’s momentum to fling him into the wall instead and hold him there.

“Stop. Fucking. Doing that.” Malfoy’s voice was close to a shriek and Harry had the wild--and most definitely suicidal--urge to tell him he sounded like his Aunt Petunia. It also couldn’t be good for his throat, but what little common sense he had kept him from telling Malfoy that as well.

Malfoy’s bony shoulder dug into Harry’s back. The arsehole was surprisingly strong. “You can’t just bluster your way out of this one, Potter.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He heard Malfoy’s breath and smelled sweat and mud and tasted blood in his mouth. He’d probably bitten his tongue. He didn’t care. Instead he lifted his chin, glaring at his partner. After holding him pinned for a few moments, Malfoy let go and stepped back with a sigh.

Harry stretched his neck experimentally. Nothing any worse than usual. And he hadn’t bitten his tongue that hard. He ran a hand through his hair and then eyed the door. “Have you made your point, Malfoy?” he asked sharply.

“No.” Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. He swallowed, then spoke again. “I have not, as you so cleverly put it, made my point. I do not have a point to make, save perhaps the small one that you are a complete and total failure as an Auror and you nearly got us both killed tonight.”

“That would be two points.”

Malfoy sniffed. “They are interrelated.”

Harry stepped toward Malfoy and saw his hand reach for the seam of his trousers. He had his own wand-reach in mind as he spoke. “ _I’m_ a total failure? I don’t think being in a head-lock for ten minutes in a hostage situation qualifies you to use words like that about other people.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t have been in a head-lock if you hadn’t ignored my signal that I was going to apprehend Weasley and instead rushed into the fray like a complete idiot.”

Harry’s mouth hardened. “It was my responsibility. And you knew...”

“I knew nothing.” Malfoy’s hand stayed on his wand side. “We arrived at the party after the distress call. I told you I was going to apprehend the suspect. And then you barrelled in there and got the whole family involved--”

“Have you even thought about what day it is and why George Weasley might have been off his nut?” Harry’s raged spiked again. He clenched his hands into fists; his nails dug into his palms.

Malfoy stood pale and pinched. “I’m well aware that we’re almost at the third anniversary of the end of the War. Yet another good reason for those of us who are supposed to protect people to think clearly and prevent further tragedies.”

“Oh and perhaps those of us who created the tragedies in the first place shouldn’t have a little more humility?” Harry couldn’t quite believe what he was saying, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself. It had been building in his chest all night, since he’d arrived at the dark Apparition point in Ottery St. Catchpole and realised first that the Weasleys might be in danger, then was forced to acknowledge that one of them _was_ the danger. 

George had been drinking heavily and had started arguing with bystanders at the bonfire. When he threatened to kill himself and everyone else, Hermione’d sent an emergency Patronus to the Aurors. She’d met them at the edge of the clearing, in tears, Bill’s tiny daughter Victoire wrapped around her hip.

Malfoy’s lips disappeared in a thin line, but he refused to rise to the bait. He’d heard far worse over the two years they’d been training together, Harry was sure, though even Malfoy had to be human. How he survived all of the hazing Harry didn’t know.

“Potter, I’m sure we could all do with a bit more humility. And we could also stop pulling cheap shots to exonerate ourselves for the things we should be able to control.” Malfoy gave him a pointed look. “Such as coordinating properly with our partners and not making a bad situation worse.”

Silently, Harry walked to his locker again. He unbuttoned the last button of his waistcoat and carefully hung it up, then pulled his travelling cloak out and wrapped it around himself despite the state of his clothes. He checked his pockets for anything related to Auror work and any objects he might have accrued, then closed the narrow door with his name on it and spoke the locking charm.

Either he was going to pretend Malfoy wasn’t there or this was going to end badly. He still had an evening of takeaway and drinking within his grasp. And he could shower at home. He would walk out and then they could work it out somehow on the next shift. He didn’t need to fight with him again, especially not on Kingsley’s watch when they would both be suspended. Again. And now that Angelina would probably need help with George and would need support from her fellow Aurors, it would be particularly selfish to indulge in his habit of out-of-control fights with Malfoy and disciplinary measures.

The rage in his chest almost settled. Almost. Until he walked toward the open doorway and the door slammed in his face. Harry stared at the dark grain of the wood for a moment, focusing on the pattern of raised panels and faint gouges. It was a thick door, and a magic one. Harry wondered for a moment if he’d ever seen it closed during his time in the Auror Office.

Slowly he turned to face Malfoy, who had his wand out but pointed downward. He wore a determined look on his face. He damned well should be, Harry thought, for someone who just said a locking charm and trapped someone in a room with him who wanted to beat him into a bloody pulp.

“That wasn’t a good idea, Malfoy.” Harry said.

Malfoy glared back. “I’m well aware. But we need to sort this. Now. Next time it might not just be a sore throat and a few tense moments followed by a relatively harmless disarming. Next time one of us, or someone in the situation, could wind up dead.”

“Open the door, you fucking tit, or one of us _will_ wind up dead.” Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Now.”

Malfoy gave up. “Fine. On your own head be it. _Alohomora_.”

Nothing happened. Malfoy brandished his wand and said the charm again, followed with a terse _Finite incantatem_. Nothing.

Harry snorted. “Very funny.” He pulled his own wand and spoke the word of the charm. The door did not unlock. He used a few unlocking spells they had learnt in Applied Magic. And the door remained closed. When he tried to open it with force, it would not budge.

“Oh shit.” Malfoy sank to the bench in the center of the room.

Harry shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe you. You lock us in here, on bloody _Beltane_ when no one is around, and all you can say is ‘oh shit’”?

Malfoy shrugged. “What am I supposed to say? I obviously didn’t intend for that to happen. And yes, oh shit. Because I’m stuck here with you.”

“You clearly wanted to be stuck in here with me. You locked us in.”

Malfoy pursed his lips and scowled. His nostrils flared as he stared into the corner, seeming to be making his mind up about something before he took a deep breath and looked at Harry levelly. “Potter, I’m sorry. I was angry and I didn’t want you to walk away. I was worried about what happened at the bonfire and I was worried that you were too upset and that you might come to harm somehow. I was also furious at your behaviour. I don’t know what I can do to get you to trust me.”

Harry sank to the floor, leaning against the locker nearest the door and wrapping his arms around his knees. His exhaustion caught up with him; the weight of it nearly pushed him to the ground. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “You could start with not locking us into rooms.”

A wan smile flitted across Malfoy’s face. “Agreed. I will do my best not to lock us into any more rooms. Especially not rooms with magical doors.”

“Too late,” Harry said gruffly, but his shoulders relaxed. He contemplated the scuffed black toes of his boots. He’d forgotten to take them off in his hurry, and his trainers were still in his locker.

“Why don’t we try to figure out what’s on that door?” Malfoy stood and his leg gave way. He staggered into the row of doors shoulder first.

“Draco!” Harry was across the room almost without thinking about it, his body wound like a spring. Malfoy clutched the wall with one hand. The fingertips of the other were coated in blood from the wound on his thigh.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Malfoy said as Harry put an arm around him and manoeuvered him into a sitting position again. “I think the muscle just seized.”

Harry knelt down and examined the wound closely. It wasn’t deep, but it was oozing with fresh blood. Harry wasn’t sure just from looking at it whether or not it’d been made by one of the spells that had been cast during the affray in Ottery St Catchpole or by George’s spelled knife.

As if he could read his mind, Malfoy said, “Don’t _Episkey_ it, Potter. I don’t think it came from the blade, but if it did, we don’t know what he had cast on it.”

Harry nodded. “Let’s hope the first-aid kit in the loo isn’t out of bandages.”

When Harry tried to help him stand, Malfoy swatted away his arm. “I can still walk, you realise.” His usual venom was missing though, and Harry was oddly relieved not to have to fight at the moment. They walked into the loo, or in Malfoy’s case, staggered. Harry summoned the kit and rifled through it until he found the bandages and salves.

Malfoy washed his hands and then sat on a narrow bench against the wall near the showers. 

Harry brought the bandages over to him. “Should I, um, do you want help?”

When Malfoy nodded, Harry put on gloves. “I think you need to take off your trousers,” he said in what he hoped was a clinical tone. He looked away while Malfoy shifted and then he heard the rustle of light wool on the floor. Looking back, Harry was confronted with Malfoy’s long muscular thighs, which were lightly furred with fine blond hairs under the strong lights of the loo.

Harry knelt on the hard white tiled floor and tried to focus on the angry gash on Malfoy’s leg and not on anything else. As Malfoy gripped his shoulder and gasped, Harry cleaned the wound--which, fortunately, was not as dirty as he had feared. He methodically applied salve to the bandage and created a careful layer of gauze secured with tape. Once he finished, he sat back on his heels and surveyed his handiwork. He realised he’d been holding his breath.

“Not bad, Potter.” Draco’s voice rasped through the silence. “Pomfrey would have a fit, but she’s not here, is she?”

“Do you want the pain potion?” Harry asked, desperate suddenly to have something else to do. It’s just that Malfoy looked so human, so real, and it was hard to hate him with his trousers off. If Harry were being honest with himself, it was also that Malfoy looked fit. He’d never, well, almost never thought of him like that before, not while he was right in front of him in a state of undress.

“Yes.” Malfoy grimaced. “You were very thorough with the wound cleaning.”

Harry said, “Sorry! They drilled that into us in training. Don’t you remember?”

“Not really. I missed most of training because the bandages were charmed to strangle me.”

“Oh right.” Harry suddenly remembered. Malfoy had endured more than the usual amount of hazing during Auror training. “That was a long time ago wasn’t it?”

“If you say so,” Malfoy answered.

“Did they ever find out who did that?” 

“No. I don’t think they tried very hard.” Malfoy grimaced. “Potion?”

Harry stood up and wiped his palm on his trousers absently. Pain potion. Right. He walked to the basins and rummaged in the first aid kit which he’d perched on the edge. There were several phials of potions with varying ratings of effect, from mild euphoria to comatose. He picked one that looked to be moderately sedative and brought it back to Draco, carefully avoiding looking at his absence of trousers.

“Why are you walking sideways, Potter?” Malfoy demanded. “You look like a crab.” He took the bottle and drank a healthy swig.

“Do I?” Harry looked at Malfoy. “Sorry. Must be a bit more sore than I thought.”

“Why don’t you finish this then?” Malfoy handed him the phial. A third of the potion was left.

Harry thought for a moment and then figured he might as well. He’d taken his fair share of knocks tonight. The potion was sweet and tasted like mint and lemon and and something indefinably herbal. After swallowing the dregs, he wanted to say, “That didn’t have any effect at all,” but his mouth wouldn’t move.

“Wow,” Harry managed after a few moments. “What’s in that?”

“No idea.” Draco took the bottle and squinted at the smudged lettering on the label. “Oh, Potter. Did you really pick a class two? We’re doomed.”

“Oh.” Harry suddenly didn’t know what to say. He looked down instead. Big mistake. He eyed Malfoy’s thighs for a long moment, then swallowed.

“You have beautiful legs.” Harry looked up to see Malfoy staring at him oddly. He cocked his head, brow furrowed. “Are you all right?”

“You do realise you said that out loud?” Malfoy asked.

“What did I...? Oh.” Harry’s face flushed hot and yet he didn’t feel as mortified as he should. “Oops.”

Malfoy smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll just make your life hell in the morning.”

“We’d have to do a bit more than talk for me to worry,” Harry shot back. He wasn’t entirely certain where his mouth was getting these things to say, but it certainly was interesting to hear what came out.

At that Malfoy laughed and Harry thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard. Or seen.

“I’d no idea you were interested,” Malfoy said drily.

Harry grinned cheekily. “Neither had I.”

Malfoy leant forward, his lips slightly open. Harry’s mouth grew dry and his breathing almost stopped. He knew this meant something but he wasn’t sure what exactly. He was hypnotised by Malfoy’s mouth.

“Potter?”

“Mmmm?” Harry wanted to lick Malfoy’s bottom lip.

“Maybe you should get my trousers.”

Harry blinked. “Oh. Wait. What? They’re a bit dirty, don’t you think?”

“I have another pair in my locker.” Malfoy said.

“Ah. Okay.” Harry stood up, and the ground wasn’t where he expected it to be. He sat down. “Are you getting cold? I could keep you warm.”

Malfoy snorted. “You just don’t want to admit you can’t walk.” 

“I can walk. Although I like you better without your trousers.” The more bizarre things he said, the more Harry felt comfortable saying them.

“I’m flattered, Potter.” Malfoy’s mouth quirked in a funny, affecting suggestion of a smile. Harry decided he liked him this way. Much nicer than fighting, although he supposed there were benefits to that as well. “I’m also half-naked and I have a wounded leg, so I don’t think I’m up for much at the moment.”

“Oh.” Harry suddenly realised how far things had gone. “I didn’t mean... Well, I did. But I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Malfoy raised a finger to Harry’s lips. He leant closer. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he all-but whispered. “And if you were anyone else I would have liberated you from your clothing by now. But I think you’re going to be very sorry when the potion clears.”

“Can we see if I am then?” Harry spoke with Malfoy’s finger still against his mouth, but he thought his meaning got across.

Malfoy dropped his hand. “Are you even gay?”

“More or less.” Harry shrugged. It wasn’t something he kept hidden, though he was surprised how many people overlooked his proclivities. “It depends on the person.”

“Have you ever sucked cock?” Malfoy’s grey eyes were steady and there was a faint wrinkle between his brows.

“Yes.” Harry met Malfoy’s questioning gaze. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Malfoy stared at him. His face looked a bit pinkish too, now that Harry looked closely.

“Did you really just offer me a blowjob?”

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. Yes I did.”

“And you really think that’s a good idea, with all of our history? And our having to work together? Much less our trying to kill each other at various points in the past year?”

“No. Not at all.” Harry shook his head. “It’s actually a horrible idea.”

The wrinkle between Malfoy’s brows deepened. “Then why in Merlin’s name would you say such a thing?”

Harry cocked his head. He thought for a long moment. “Because I want to,” he said finally. The potion’d fuzzed his brain, but he was quite certain he knew what he wanted. And why. “Because I’ve been thinking about how you taste. Because I want to see your face when you come.”

Malfoy’s eyelashes fluttered and then he frowned. “Potter,” he said in a low voice, “if you are taking the piss, I will kill you. I want to make that clear. This has gone far enough for a joke.”

Harry slid off the bench onto his knees, a bit more awkwardly than he’d planned but without falling over. His motor skills were returning now, and just in time it would seem. He positioned himself carefully between Malfoy’s knees, avoiding brushing against the wounded thigh. With the pad of his thumb, he stroked Malfoy’s other thigh, watching the gooseflesh appear.

He looked up at Malfoy who was watching him intently and had sunk his teeth into his lip. “Say yes, Malfoy.”

“Yes, Malfoy,” Malfoy said.

Harry pursed his lips. He licked a trail along Malfoy’s inner thigh and stopped close to the edge of Malfoy’s pants.

“Is this what you want?”

Malfoy opened his eyes. “Yes, Potter” he said breathlessly. “Damn you, yes.”

Harry nuzzled Malfoy’s erection through the strained cloth of his pants and thought about what a bad idea this was. He didn’t care. Malfoy always mocked him, regardless of what he did. So if he failed to please him, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but given his usual experience in Muggle clubs and haunts, Harry didn’t think this would be a problem. He’d never had complaints yet. 

And the fact that this was Malfoy made Harry’s cock twitch. It wasn’t just some bloke with pretty eyes and a nice arse; it was a specific bloke who had stunning eyes and a gorgeous arse and who generally wanted to kill him. And it wasn’t some random encounter. In fact, it was a rather dangerous encounter: if Kingsley found them, he would likely sack them. Which made it all the hotter.

Malfoy smelled really, really good. And he was spreading his thighs to allow more access for Harry’s mouth and hands. Harry toyed with him, not pulling his cock out of his pants yet, just rubbing and licking and breathing through the fabric. Malfoy was flushed when Harry looked up, and a lock of hair had fallen into his face. He was obviously trying not to react too much, but his small gasps and shifts made it clear that he was really turned on by the lunacy of the situation as well. He was desperately hard given the level of stimulation, as was Harry.

“God. Potter.”

Harry reached into Malfoy’s pants and freed the head of his cock, which he promptly wrapped his lips around, sliding down the shaft as Malfoy’s hips jerked forwards. Malfoy stifled a groan and his head hit the tiled wall with a slight thud. 

Malfoy’s cock was a nice thickness and it felt sinfully good sliding against the ridge of Harry’s mouth. He lapped at it eagerly, intoxicated by the smell and the taste of Malfoy--not to mention the forbidden nature of what they were doing--and perhaps also that crazy potion he’d selected. On second thought, he resolved to be thankful to the crazy potion if it led to inhibitions this low between them.

Harry cupped Malfoy’s balls through the cotton and worked the shaft of Malfoy’s cock, as much as he could reach, with his mouth. Somewhere in his brain he began to realise that he would have to take off Malfoy’s pants most likely and the damned bandages on his thigh would be problematic.

Harry disengaged his lips from the head of Malfoy’s cock with a loud pop. Malfoy opened his eyes - he looked utterly wrecked. He’d been biting his lips and his pupils were large; he breathed in sharply.

“Wh-” Malfoy asked without really speaking a full word.

“Pants, Malfoy.”

“Oh.” Malfoy’s face took on a puzzled look. Then he scowled and reached out a hand. With a quick flourish of his wand, without Harry being able to duck out of the way, he cast the spell, and Harry was suddenly cupping Malfoy’s naked balls. He’d Vanished his pants. Just like that. Despite himself, Harry was impressed with the fearlessness of it. He’d have been afraid to hit the wrong thing with that one.

To reward Malfoy’s bravado, Harry wrapped a hand around the base of Malfoy’s cock and opened his throat to swallow him deeply. Malfoy’s skin was so smooth and soft and the muted sounds he was making were too good. For a few moments Harry was bobbing, sucking and tonguing and trying for technique, but then Malfoy snaked a hand into Harry’s hair and held his head while he thrust into Harry’s mouth. Harry gave up fighting--he liked having his mouth fucked as long it stayed manageable, and Malfoy was dirty but he wasn’t rude. Harry breathed through his nose and let Malfoy have his way with him, both hands cupped around Harry’s skull, the pace of his thrusts increasing but careful not to go too deep. Harry unbuttoned his own trousers and rubbed the palm of his free hand over the aching hardness of his own cock, raising waves of pleasure. He couldn’t believe he was this close.

Malfoy pushed Harry back and pulled his cock free of his mouth. As Harry blinked, he smacked his cock wetly against Harry’s cheek. Harry shivered. Somehow he’d always imagined Malfoy would act like this and the fact that he actually did only made things better. Harry’d been fantasising about blowing Malfoy for years.

Malfoy’s fingers clasped his prick in a hard grip, and Malfoy leaned forward. With a few ruthless tugs, he was shooting all over the floor and Harry: the first strand of spunk hit the side of Harry’s face and got in his eye. As Malfoy slumped, Harry staggered roughly to the sink with his flies open and his cock bobbing and leaking. He rinsed his eye under the stream of water.

“Sorry,” came a sleepy, pleased but still nasal voice from the bench behind him. “If you come back, I’ll help you with that.”

Harry wiped his eye with the back of his hand and followed Malfoy’s direction, slouching back warily to the bench. It seemed that scarely had Malfoy’s hand closed over his prick than he was coming over the already sticky tiles in vicious spasms and perhaps more of a shout than he’d meant to let out. When he was finished, he slumped against Malfoy’s shoulder.

“Impressive,” Malfoy said after a moment, his mouth pressed against Harry’s hair. “We should try that again without the potion.” He stretched slightly and twisted against Harry. “To see if the results can be repeated.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah. But only for that reason.”

“I’d heard rumours, of course, but you must’ve been discreet.” Malfoy stroked a patch of skin above Harry’s hipbone where his trousers and shirt gaped.

“I usually go to Muggle bars when I’m looking for men. It’s less complicated.” Harry nuzzled Malfoy’s ear, wanting to kiss him but knowing it was still too soon for that. “I did have something with George though. After the War and all.”

“Ah.” Malfoy nodded. “That explains...” He trailed off for a moment. Harry was grateful. “Does Angelina know?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t mind.”

Malfoy licked Harry’s neck. “You should reevaluate your policy of not sleeping with wizards. Although you know you probably have - everyone else goes to Muggle bars as well.”

Harry wrapped an arm around him. “I’ll think about it.”

A knock sounded on the door in the other room, and both of them jerked upright in surprise. Kingsley’s baritone rang out loud and calm from the hall. “I’m glad you both were able to settle things. If you’re quite finished, the rest of us would like to come in now. We’ll give you another two minutes.”

Heat flooded Harry’s face at the sounds of muffled laughter mixed with protest from the hallway outside. By the sound of it, half of the force was outside the door. 

And now they were going to rescue them. Christ.

Malfoy summoned his trousers with a profanity-laced flick of his wand, and Harry started buttoning feverishly. When they’d straightened up what they could, Harry started to call the others in. Malfoy put a hand on his arm.

“Potter,” he started, then hesitated. He ran a hand through his rumpled hair. “I wasn’t as affected by the pain potion as I perhaps appeared.”

Harry smiled. “Neither was I.”

“I don’t usually like Beltane at all. But this was not bad.” Malfoy looked almost shy at the admission.

Harry nodded awkwardly.

Then Malfoy frowned and gestured with his pointy chin toward the opposite wall. “They seem awfully confident that they’ll be able to get in the door. I don’t hear any spells.”

Harry and Draco listened closely and then narrowed their eyes, the same suspicion forming that they had been intentionally trapped together, on this night of all nights. The handle turned and the door swung open.

Kingsley took in their scrutiny and looked back to the entrance where everyone was filing in. “The door hasn’t decided to stick for several years. You must have done something to get on its bad side.”

Malfoy looked narrowly at the door and Harry began to protest. Kingsley waved his hand. “And now I believe you both have some forms to fill out. I want the reports finished tonight.”

“But we’ll be here for hours,” Malfoy said.

Kingsley looked down from his considerable height. “Then you’d better get started.”

Several voices chimed in. The least rude comment was, “I’m sure you can pick up where you left off.”

As the rest of the force elbowed their way to the showers, Harry and Malfoy sidled out of the door. As they headed up the broad stairs, he asked,”Do you think the door really sticks on its own?”

Malfoy pinned him against the corner of the stairwell. After a few rough kisses, he said, “Do you even care?”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “No. Not at all.” 

Even with paperwork, this was shaping up to be his most promising Beltane yet.


End file.
